Carry Me Home
by foreverwriting9
Summary: They stop in Paris on the way back from Belgrade because he promised.


They stop in Paris on the way back from Belgrade, because he _promised_. Normally, that wouldn't mean too much to him (a promise to a thief), but this is different.

XXX

They're standing in a gallery of the Louvre, shoulders pressed together, and they are _remembering_.

"I tried to steal that one time," Sophie says, pointing to a small statuette in front of them.

Nate smiles, his eyes crinkling. "I stopped you from stealing that," he says, pointing across the room to a painting (and Sophie doesn't admit it out loud, but this is one of those moments when she falls more in love with him).

"Only because I let you."

"Right. Of course." The smile in his voice is evident and the gallery is so full of _light_ right now that it's almost blinding.

She smacks his arm. "I'm Sophie Devereaux, no one catches me unless I want to be caught."

Nate arches a brow at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "So why did you want me to catch you?"

Her eyes go wide for a moment, and sometimes Nate is honestly _insufferable_. "It was fun," she chokes out eventually, her foot bumping into his as she tries to move away. They are coming up on dangerous territory, and he is standing much too close to her, and there are paintings all around, and it _almost_ manages to feel like old times.

"What?" His bright blue eyes cloud over for a second.

"The game we played, Nate. It was fun."

He takes a step toward her, half reaching for her hand. "That's one way to put it."

Sophie smiles, but there's something sad and pained in it that twists the corners of her mouth. "Infuriating?"

"That's more like it." His eyes stray to a nearby painting. "I wanted to catch you so badly, Soph."

"Oh really?" Her voice takes on a light tone, and sometimes Nate is so glad that he's a thief now, that he spends most of his days and nights plotting and analyzing and conning, because he does it with _her_, and really, they are the perfect team.

"Yes." His hand bumps into hers as he leans forward and invades her space. (He is greedy when it comes to her, and she is the one person he will never be able to con, because his eyes darken _just so_ when he looks at her.)

Sophie smiles. "You chased me across the world," she says, pressing her fingers into his elbow. "Through museums and mansions and crowded parties."

"I did." (And he would do it all over again, because this is _everything_ he's ever wanted_._)

"Some people might think-"

"Can we go?" Parker's voice rings out across the gallery. "The Louvre is much less fun when you won't let me steal anything."

Behind her, Eliot rolls his eyes, and Hardison just stares. "Parker, we just stole an entire movie set and an orphanage. What else could you possibly want?"

She crinkles her nose at him. "An eighteenth century crown covered in diamonds and pearls and rubies and-"

Hardison walks away in the middle of her sentence, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

A security guard's head snaps in their direction, and Nate can't help the chuckle that tumbles out of his mouth. (_He works with thieves now_, and they are so much more childish than he expected.) Sophie turns and looks at him, surprised at the sound, and then brushes her hand against his arm. "C'mon Nate, let's go take the kids home."

XXX

They're on the airplane headed home when they finally get some time to themselves again.

"Thank you, Nate," Sophie says, leaning in toward him so that he can see just how much she means the words.

He stops flipping through the magazine in front of him and watches her for a moment. "Of course, Sophie. After all," he says with a grin, "it's _Paris_."

"Paris," she echoes, her hand finding his and squeezing lightly before retreating back to her lap. "Nathan Ford, you took me to Paris."

"And no one was shot, nothing was stolen."

"That's a rare occurrence for us, we should savor it while we can."

Nate nods, fingers curling around the pages of his forgotten magazine. "You know as soon as we get home they'll want to do another job," he says, tilting his head back toward where Eliot, Parker, and Hardison sit arguing over a card game. "And then there will be plenty of stealing and shooting and crawling through air ducts."

"That's not such a bad thing, is it?"

"No," he says, "I guess it's not." His gaze flicks over to the window, focusing on the deep blue ocean waves far below them. (There are some moments when his life seems so _uncomplicated_, and this is one of them.) He turns his attention back to Sophie as she presses something cool and metallic into his palm.

"Here," she says softly, the edges of her voice tinged with a shyness that colors her cheeks, and in this moment she is _beautiful_. "To remind you."

Nate glances down at his open hand, his breath hitching when he realizes that he is holding a tiny replica of the Eiffel Tower. He looks up at her, really _sees_ her for the first time in a while. "Of Paris?"

"Amongst other things." Her smile is wistful and nostalgic, and there's an intoxicating measure of hope resting in her eyes that Nate finds addicting and overwhelming, and honestly, he's very sure he loves her. Sophie must see something of that sentiment in his face, because she stands up suddenly and begins to walk back toward Eliot, Parker, and Hardison.

Nate calls after her playfully. "What, no scars? You're not going to shoot me this time?"

She turns to look at him over her shoulder and laughs. "Maybe next time, Nate."

"All right," he agrees. "Next time."


End file.
